Safe Bet (The Rules #4) Page 8

  “You can’t make a mess of it if you just be yourself,” Fable reassures me.

  “That’s the part where I think I’ll mess it up,” I say, making Fable laugh and shake her head.

  Jacob chooses that particular moment to walk up to me and throw his yellow plastic block right at my head. I dodge it so the block only grazes my hair and doesn’t make actual contact. “Ouch, buddy!”

  “Aw, you little meanie.” Fable grabs hold of Jacob by the waist and hauls him into her lap, giving him a little shake and making him laugh. “No throwing blocks at girls!”

  “Isn’t that the way boys used to show their love?” I tease.

  “Yeah, back in kindergarten.” Fable tickles Jacob, sending him into peals of laughter. He’s so stinking cute. He looks just like Drew, where Autumn resembles Fable, with the exception of her dark hair versus Fable’s blonde. “Want me to help you get ready tonight?”

  “Would you?”

  “Absolutely. We might have these monkeys underfoot, but it shouldn’t be too bad.”

  “I’ll take you up on that offer.”

  “Good.” Fable’s smile slowly fades. “After all, I’m responsible for you having to deal with all of this. The least I can do is help you as much as possible.”

  “I don’t mind doing it. Spending time with Wade Knox and pretending he’s my boyfriend won’t be a hardship.” Ha, maybe I shouldn’t have confessed that.

  But hey, I’m being totally honest. It won’t be difficult, pretending to be Wade’s girlfriend. He’s nice, he’s attractive, he’s a total catch.

  “Right?” She holds up her hand, palm out, and I give her a high five. “I think you two are going to be a very convincing couple,” Fable says with a big smile.

  From her mouth to God’s ears, I swear.

  “Ready to do this?” I ask Sydney as she steps out onto the front porch, shutting the door behind her.

  She offers me a nervous smile, running a hand over her blonde hair. How do I know that smile is nervous? Her lips quiver at the corners, I swear. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” she murmurs.

  I take her hand and lead her over to my truck, hitting the keyless remote to unlock the passenger side door. I got ready for our first “date” in the locker room after a particularly intense practice. Once I showered and changed into black pants and a white button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, I drove over to Drew and Fable’s house to pick Sydney up. I’m taking her to a restaurant Fable recommended would be a good one to be seen at. Meaning the paparazzi hang around this specific restaurant all the time.

  “You don’t have to hold my hand,” she says as we come to a stop by the passenger side of my truck.

  I let go of said hand to open the door for her. “I’m in practice mode. We need to get used to it. Besides, photographers have been hanging around here lately, right?” I watch as she climbs into my truck. She’s wearing a dark blue dress that somehow covers a lot of her, yet shows off plenty of skin too. While I’ve always believed I was a tit man, I can admit I definitely admire her long, sleek legs.

  “Right. They might be lurking outside the gate at this very moment,” she says as she pulls the door shut before I can say anything else.

  Huh. Seems that someone is more nervous than I thought.

  When I pull out of the gate, I notice a single nondescript car parked across the street, and a single guy sitting behind the steering wheel. I’m guessing he’s a photographer.

  Good. We’ll put on a show. Give them what they want.

  We drive into the city, making small talk as I navigate our way to the restaurant. Considering it’s a Friday night, the traffic is heavy, the streets backed up as we slow to a crawl the closer we get to downtown. The fading sunlight flashes within the truck’s cab as we drive, every once in a while, enveloping Sydney in a golden glow. I keep stealing glances in her direction, reminding myself this is only one night, and that everything we’re about to embark on, is fake. She feels nothing for me. I’m supposed to feel nothing for her.

  Nothing.

  Nothing.

  Nothing.

  We finally arrive at the restaurant fifteen minutes later than the reservation time I made, and I hope like hell we didn’t lose our table. I leave my keys with the valet and escort Sydney into the restaurant, clutching her hand once more as we walk inside. She curls her fingers tightly around mine and I glance down, noticing how my hand completely engulfs hers. She’s actually pretty tiny. And I’m the complete opposite of that.

  “Does this feel weird or what?” Sydney asks after the hostess seats us at our table in the middle of the restaurant.

  I glance up from the giant menu the hostess handed us. “Does what feel weird?”

  “The two of us. Together.” She sends me a pointed look. “Can I confess something?”

  “Absolutely.” I sit up straighter, my attention focused only on her.

  “You’re not my usual type.” Her gaze drops to the table, her cheeks turning the faintest shade of pink.

  The shy act is something I’m not usually attracted to. I like my women bold. I like it when they know what they want. But then again, Sydney isn’t my woman. She’s not even someone I’m interested in making my woman. I’m pretending to be interested to help some friends out. That’s it. I need to remember that.

  “You’re not my type either,” I admit.

  Her head jerks up, her wide gaze meeting mine. She looks offended, which is hilarious because she’s the one who started this conversation. “What’s your type then?”

  “You really want to discuss this before dinner?”

  Sydney nods. “Oh, I definitely want to discuss this before dinner.”

  Great. I was ravenous not thirty seconds ago, and now my appetite is evaporating. “We’re pretending, so why does it matter what my type is?”

  “It matters. We need to act like we’re attracted to each other, right? So what type of girl are you attracted to?”

  How am I supposed to describe my ideal girl and not sound like a complete jackass?

  “How about this,” she starts when I still haven’t said anything. “I prefer soulful types. Guys who like music so much they want to write it. My past boyfriends have been tall, thin, and they like to play guitar. Oh, and they usually have a piercing or two.”

  “Who says I don’t have a piercing or two?”

  Her mouth falls open, those cheeks turning even pinker. She looks shocked. Good. “Do you?”

  I shrug. “You’ll never know, will you? Since this is all fake?”

  She snaps her mouth shut, struggling to regain her composure. “Shouldn’t I know if you have piercings or not? Since I’m your supposed girlfriend?”

  “Why? Who’s going to ask a question like that?”

  “I don’t know, but someone could. And I’ll look like an idiot if I don’t know the answer to that question, especially since we’re supposed to have been—intimate with each other.”

  “We could be like Russell Wilson and his new wife. Claim that we’re celibate until we get married. Reporters will eat that up.” I have my own feelings about Russell Wilson, but I won’t declare them out loud.

  “Married?” All the air seems to have left her at my words. I think she might’ve even gasped. “That’s a little serious, don’t you think?”

  “When the relationship is as fake as ours is, you can be as extreme as you want to be.” We’re already in this deep. What’s a little talk about marriage? Women usually love that sort of thing, though I should watch myself. I don’t want Sydney to get any ideas.

  “Marriage is pretty extreme. Like, the most extreme that you can be.” She shakes her head. “Honestly? I’m not a believer. Marriage is more like a trap.”

  I’m taken aback by her trap comment. She mentioned her parents’ marriage was pretty crappy. So maybe she’s thinking of that? If that’s all she’s ever seen, then yeah I can see why she wouldn’t believe in marriage. Hell, I’m not a big believer either. My sperm donor didn�
�t even bother marrying my mom. He knocked her up, stuck around until I was born and then jammed. Never to be seen or heard from again. “I only used it as an example,” I say, but she’s not even listening to me. She just keeps talking about it.

  “I’m only nineteen. The last thing I want to be is married.” She practically spits out the last word, like it was something disgusting she ate.

  “Same. I’m only twenty-two. My life is really just beginning.”

  “So is mine.”

  “Well, I guess we’re in agreement that we’re not ready to get married then.” I grin. This conversation—like our situation—is totally insane. “Did we just have our first fight, Sydney?”

  “I think so. And we’ve already resolved it and everything.” She returns the smile, her gaze dropping to the menu in front of her. “Maybe it’s a good thing I’m changing up my usual type.”

  “It’s always smart to stretch and expand your horizons,” I say as seriously as possible.

  And maybe I’m starting to believe that too.

  The candlelight from the votive on our table strikes Wade in the most perfect way possible. The flame constantly flickers, casting his face in various shadows that only highlight his features. The more I stare at him throughout our very intimate yet totally on-display dinner, the more I like what I see.

  Ugh. I need some sort of warning alarm in my head to remind me what I’m doing is dangerous. Playing around like I’m in a relationship with Wade Knox is stupid. Maybe I was a fool to agree to this.

  Too late to reconsider, though—I’m all in, whether I like it or not.

  I’ve felt people watching us all night, and I hope they don’t recognize me. But then again, I’m supposed to want them to recognize me. The Naughty Nanny—that nickname is the freaking worst, I swear. I don’t want people to believe I’m the one who’s possibly breaking up the Callahan marriage.

  Hence all this phony stuff, which feels surprisingly real right now—scary, I know. But I can’t help it. Wade is so nice, and nice to look at too. I’ve seen more than one woman stare at him as she passed by our table. I can’t blame them either. He’s so good looking. I don’t even think he knows just how attractive he is.

  That makes it even worse.

  “People keep looking over at us,” Wade says, his voice low as he quickly scans the room. I idly wonder if he’s a mind reader. “Think they recognize you?”

  “I hope not,” I immediately say in return. “Maybe they recognize you.”

  He scoffs. How he can make a scoff sound sexy, I’m not sure, but he just did. “No way. No one knows who I am, nor do they care.”

  I like how he just used the word “nor”. Crap, I’m liking everything he’s doing tonight. I need that danger warning alarm sounding off, stat. “They’ll figure out who you are soon when you start playing in the regular season.”

  He looks pleased by my comment, and I’m proud of the fact that I’m retaining so much of what Fable’s taught me about football over this last week. She told me she didn’t know squat about the game either when she first started dating Drew, but she wanted to know because it was such a big part of his life.

  I’m only learning so I don’t sound like an idiot in case anyone asks me about my so-called boyfriend’s career, which isn’t quite the same as Fable’s intentions. But whatever. She knows a lot, she’s gone over the basics for me, so I’m fairly confident I won’t end up sounding like a complete imbecile if a reporter or whoever asks me about my “boyfriend” and what he does.

  “I just want to stay on the team. That’s all.” Wade sets his fork on his now-empty plate. The man can put a lot of food away, though I guess I shouldn’t be surprised considering how large he is. “Tomorrow’s game is everything. I have to give it my best.”

  Right. This game is the most important of his life. He’s reiterated that to me more than once. “We should probably leave early so you can get home and get some rest.”

  “The game isn’t until tomorrow night, and besides, I won’t be able to sleep.” He smiles ruefully. “Too nervous.”

  It’s ridiculous, but I find his nervousness super cute right now. “You’ll be fine. You’ve made it this far. How can it go wrong?”

  “Trust me, it can go wrong. It’s pretty hard not to think my life has turned into some sort of dream. Since I was seven and in youth league football, I’ve wanted this. A chance at the NFL, a chance to play football for one of the greatest teams ever. It never seemed possible before, you know? Just one unattainable dream to add to the long list of dreams I had when I was a kid. Something I can chase after, yet never seem to catch.” He shrugs, looking embarrassed he just spilled his guts.

  But I’m stuck on one minor fact. “You’ve played football since you were seven?”

  “Yeah. My mom put me in peewee football so that it would give me some discipline.”

  “Did it help?”

  “Oh yeah. Well, it gave me an outlet for all my energy and anger too.” He takes a sip of his water. “I was kind of a pissed off kid.”

  “Really? Why?” It’s nice sitting here, getting to know him. I don’t want to share too many intimate details with him about my background, but I like hearing his stories. Makes me feel closer to him.

  “The thing with my dad, how he was never a part of my life. That made me angry, and there was nothing my mom could do about it, so she put me in football. In the hopes it would allow me to channel my energy in a more positive way.” He laughs. “She’d be real proud. I sound just like her right now.”

  “You two are really close, aren’t you?” I find that so sweet. Most of the guys I’ve known would never admit they were close to their parents.

  “Yeah. She’s all I’ve got. And I’m all she’s got. It’s always been the two of us against the world.”

  “She never remarried?”

  “My dad didn’t marry her in the first place. But no, she never married. Said she never met a man worthy enough, and she didn’t want to bother hooking herself up to a loser just because.” His gaze meets mine, dark and intense. “You said you’re not a believer in marriage? Well, neither am I. I’m not much of a big believer in true love either. It all sounds like a bunch of shit if you ask me.”

  “I totally agree,” I murmur, my gaze never leaving his. It’s like we’re bonding over our mutual distaste for love and relationships. While we sit here pretending we’re in love and in a relationship.

  The irony isn’t lost on me. I bet it’s not lost on him either.

  “No wonder we both so readily agreed to pretend we’re in a relationship like this,” he says. “We’re not believers.”

  “Not believers of what exactly?” I know what he means, I just want to hear him say it.

  “Believers in love.” His smile is slow, his gaze still intense. I’m starting to realize that’s an apt description of him. He can smile so easily but still appear so serious. Maybe Fable’s right—there still might be a hint of mischievousness lingering deep inside him. And I wouldn’t mind trying to bring that to the surface. “Love is a total waste of time.”

  “Totally.”

  “If you think you’ve fallen in love, you’ll only get hurt.”

  “Most likely.”

  “And who wants to get hurt?”

  “Definitely not me,” I agree.

  “Attraction is for real, though.”

  I frown. His comment just tripped me up. “Attraction?”

  “Yeah, you know. Attraction. Chemistry. Being drawn toward someone, and that person being drawn toward you. That’s real.”

  “So you believe in attraction, but not love.”

  “Of course I believe in attraction. It’s what makes the world go ’round. It’s what draws people to each other in the first place, and makes them think they’re in love.” He takes another sip of his water and I watch him, entranced with the way his lips curve around the glass, how his Adam’s apple moves when he swallows. Ugh. All this talk of attraction and love is starting to get
to me. Just watching him drink is making me squirm, which is totally ridiculous.

  “I guess I didn’t think you’d be a big believer in attraction. I don’t know why,” I say, my gaze lingering on his now damp lips. His very full, shiny lips. Is it suddenly hot in here, or is it just me?

  “Just because I don’t believe in love doesn’t mean I won’t indulge every once in a while.” He chuckles. “I used to indulge a lot more when I was younger.”

  “With girls?”

  “Well, yeah.” His cheeks actually turn ruddy, like he’s embarrassed. “Most of my college years, you could’ve totally called me a man-whore and I wouldn’t have argued. I was with a different girl every night, it felt like.”

  I frown. “And why exactly are you telling me this?” Not like college was that long ago for him. For all I know he could’ve considered himself a man-whore up to a few weeks ago.

  And why does that make me feel so uneasy?

  “I don’t know. I guess you’re easy to talk to.” He shrugs. “I don’t open up too often to people.”

  “You don’t?” Because he is definitely opening up to me.

  “I keep to myself mostly. Only have a few close friends.”

  “I understand.” I’m pretty much the same. I knew lots of people in high school, but only a handful would I consider my real friends. Since I got kicked out of the house and couldn’t maintain my old lifestyle, all of those friends have abandoned me. So I guess they weren’t real friends after all.

  I’ve dated a few guys, but only two did I actually do the deed with. And the first one doesn’t even count, because he took my virginity and then proceeded to dump me a week later.

  The asshole.

  “But I’m the one who’s talked the whole night. You’ve hardly said anything,” Wade points out.

  Uh oh.

  “I don’t mind listening,” I say brightly, hoping to distract him. “Keep talking.”

  “I think it’s your turn.”

  “Maybe I don’t want it to be my turn.”

  He frowns. “Why not? You got secrets you want to hide?”